"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. I'll dispose of the brat. "Mr. Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. ” She said bitterly. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. “Tell me his name,” he said, “and I promise that he shall never trouble you. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up in significance what it lacked in precision. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf.
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